p;: 


OPEN  LETTERj 

from 

BLISS  CARMAN 


7       ^ 


"AN  OPEN  LETTER" 

from 

BLISS   CARMAN 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1920, 

By  SMALL,  MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY 

(^Incorporated) 


BY  WAY  OF  PREFACE. 


Saranac  Lake, 

i8,  December,  ipip. 

My  dear  M.  P.  K. 

It  is  somewhere  about  thirty  below  zero 
this  morning,  but  what  of  that?  Things  begin 
to  look  better.  The  trail  begins  to  lead  up 
out  of  the  valley  toward  a  peak  somewhere 
ahead,  not  quite  clear  yet  —  but  there.  We 
are  not  quite  out  of  the  woods,  but  they  begin 
to  thin;  the  drifts  are  not  so  deep;  the  smother 
is  not  so  dense;  and  the  going  is  better. 

As  I  look  back  I  wonder  how  I  ever  set  out. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  you  and  my  sister  and 
Eric,  I  never  should  have  got  off  at  all.  It  all 
seemed  too  difficult  —  and  unimportant.  Even 
at  the  last  minute  I  think  I  might  have  stam- 
peded from  the  train,  but  for  you  and  Anna 
Kenny  and  Emily.    And  now,  behold,  the  ex- 


pedition  you  all  outfitted  with  every  cheer  and 
comfort  prospers  beyond  imagining.  Only  I 
fear  that  all  you  have  undertaken  and  put 
through  for  me  is  far  too  much  for  your 
strength,  and  no  improvement  of  mine  could 
compensate  for  such  a  mishap. 

Then  could  anything  he  more  encouraging 
than  all  the  prompt  and  kind  reinforcement 
from  Twilight  —  from  Mrs,  Rhinelander  and 
A,  F,  Huston,  Linda,  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Charles 
Da^ey,  Raymond  Gorges,  J,  J,  Burkle,  Stanley 
Hooper,  and  all  those  good  people?  It  is 
certainly  a  rare  good  fortune  to  have  had  such 
a  summer  home  all  these  years  among  the 
beautiful  Cat  skills,  so  peaceful,  so  humane,  so 
full  of  true  neighborliness  and  gentle  enduring 
friendship. 

When  I  think  of  it  all  —  what  an  array  of 
loving  friends!  Dear  Mrs.  Dithmar  with  that 
unquenchable  passion  for  kindness,  blessed 
Mr,  and  Mrs.  Hathaway  keeping  lovable  their 
immortal  name  of  sweet  memory,  Jewett  and 
F.  P.  Adams  and  Jay  Kaufman  with  their 
wondrous  scheme  for  a  fellow  temporarily 
down,  and  Fromk  Crane  with  his  great  follow- 
ing—  a  whole   marvellous   army    of   benefi- 


cience  marshalled  in  one  mortaVs  behalf.  How 
unmerited,  hut  how  heartening,  how  inspiring! 
There  are  so  many  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
thinking  of,  so  many  who  have  proved  again 
the  value  of  old  acquaintance  with  astounding 
liberality  of  kindness  and  remembrance,  —  C. 
B.  DeCamp,  Edward  Epstean,  Gilman  Hall, 
Harold  Hall,  Rupert  Hughes,  Charles  Rose- 
bault,  F.  F.  Sherman,  Harry  Thompson, 
and  still  others,  —  really  a  wonderful  list. 
What  sheer  whole-hearted  kindness!  What 
men  to  count  ay  friends!  And  how  gratifying 
to  be  remembered  in  Canada  by  McArthur  and 
R.  H,  Hathaway  and  Stringer  and  Sullivan 
and  other  old  comrades  or  fellow-craftsmen ! 
But  perhaps  the  most  astonishing  surprise  in 
all  this  astonishing  and  really  great  experience 
has  been  the  generous  sympathy  and  aid  from 
men  and  women  I  didn't  know,  and  whom  I 
surely  wish  to  know  one  day.  Here,  to  name 
only  two,  are  Mr,  A,  E.  Rothstein  of  New 
York  and  Mr.  W.  C.  Nichol  of  Vancouver, 
both  strangers  and  yet  —  what  friends.  How 
is  it  that  there  are  men  so  royal  and  so  unpre- 
tentious f  Truly  the  world  is  no  such  place  of 
selfish  indifference  as  the  dolorous  would  have 


us  believe;  rather  it  seems  a  place  where  aU 
mighty  goodness  walks  about  and  where  there 
is  more  than  one  City  of  Brotherly  Love, 

Happy  thoughts  about  all  this  have  been 
running  through  my  brain,  and  I  have  begun, 
not  exactly  an  Apologia,  but  a  sort  of  memo- 
randum in  rhyme  on  One  Man's  Case,  as  it 
might  be  called,  I  only  wish  it  could  carry  to 
all  those  who  must  journey  into  the  austerity 
of  the  North  Woods  seeking  health  some  of  the 
mighty  heartening  I  have  received. 

What  the  conclusion  of  the  rhyme  m^ust  be 
does  not  yet  appear.    But  all  in  good  time. 
Gratefully  ever 

B,  C, 

To  Mary  Perry  King, 
Sunshine  House, 

New  Canaan,  Conn, 


AN  OPEN  LETTER 


A  cold,  a  cough,  and  suddenly  one  day  a  gush  of 
red. 
Then  the  doctors  tapped  and  listened,  with  very  little 
said. 


There  are  some  things  never  mentioned,  as  we  tacitly 

agree ; 
So  they  called  it  "an  involvement,"  and  I  knew  they 

meant  T.  B. 

"But  the  clear-aired  North  will  cure  you.     Pack  up 

your  kit,  and  go. 
The  cold  will  be  your  doctor,  and  your  nurse  will  be 

the  snow. 

There  is  virtue  in  the  open;  there  is  healing  out  of 

doors ; 
The   great   Physician   makes   his   rounds   along   the 

forest  floors." 


So  they  shipped  me  in  a  sleeper,  with  a  ticket  for 

the  North,— 
From  the  city  of  my  hopes  and  dreams,  and  all  T 

loved  on  earth. 

I  did  not  want  a  golden  throne  in  any  lonely  star, 
I  only  wanted  to  be  left  where  loving  people  are. 

I  wanted  just  the  smiles  and  hands  that  waved  me 

out  of  sight, 
As  we  slipped  beyond  the  station,  to  the  tunnel  and 

the  night. 


II. 


At  dawn  I  saw  the  dying  moon  get  up  as  we  went 

by, 
And  the  yellow  autumn  larches  standing  cold  against 

the  sky. 

And  a  shanty  in  a  clearing,  all  desolate  and  lone, 
As  if  the  chill  of  morning  had  struck  it  to  the  bone. 

Then  a  line  of  split  rail   fences,  a  lift  of  rugged 

hills ; 
And  so  into  the  great  North  woods  I  took  my  puny 

ills. 


III. 


On  a  porch   that   faced  the  morning,   in  a  blanket 

on  a  chair, 
I  came  into  my  fortune  as  they  left  me  lying  there, — 

When  Adam  lay  in  Eden  and  looked  upon  the  sky, 
He  was  master  of  a  leisure  no  more  absolute  than  I. 

Here  was  the  earth, — all  bleak  and  bare,  with  winter 
coming  on, 

A  grim  untempting  battle-field  for  a  soul's  Mara- 
thon. 

This  was  the  selfsame  earth  which  gave  the  shining 
April  flowers, 

The  thrush's  flute  at  twilight,  and  the  tranquil  sum- 
mer hours; 

Now  dour  and  taciturn  and  hard,  yet  standing  by  to 

aid 
The  dauntless  spirit  that  must  prove  of  what  stuff 

it  is  made. 

Stern,  leading  on  to  venture  with  the  issue  still  in 

doubt. 
She    tests   our    common    manhood    and    strains    the 

weakness  out. 


She  lights   her   far  horizons  with   promise  of   the 

truth, 
And  hangs  her  star  of  glory  out  to  guide  the  steps 

of  youth. 

She  dares  us  with  the  hazard,  and  stings  us  with 
rebuff, 

Till  we  learn  her  ways  and  wisdom — and  the  knowl- 
edge is  enough. 

One  lesson  here  was  plain;  that  I  must  learn  the 

final  worth 
Of  good  and  ill,  of  weal  and  woe,  as  they  are  named 

on  earth. 


IV. 

The  mountains   lay  around  me,   like  giants   on  the 

trail. 
Whose  strength  was  at  my  service,  whose  patience 

would  not  fail. 

The  Sun  was  my  attendant  to  light  my  morning  fire ; 
The  Night  brought  in  my  candles;  what  more  could 
one  require? 

And  one  great  shining  planet  would  come  before 

the  dawn. 
Over  the  dark  blue  Eastern  hills,  to  tell  me  night 

was  gone. 


I  watched  the  silent  sunrise  come  up,  and  melt  and 

change 
Through    mauve   and    saffron    glory   as    it    flooded 

range  on  range, 

And    rimmed    the    purple    valleys,   and    tipped   the 

peaks  with  fire. 
Till    this    world    seemed   no    more    desolate,    but   a 

Land  of  Heart's  Desire! 

New  life  and  warmth  and  beauty  were  born  there 

in  my  sight. 
And   all   the   dimming   corners   of    my   heart   were 

filled  with  light. 


I  saw  across  a  valley  the  autumn  rains  come  down, 
And   sweep   in   solemn   grandeur   across   the   forest 
crown ; 

And   I   thought   upon   the  valley   where   each   man 

walks  alone. 
And  all  the  trails  run  out  and  stop  at  the  edge  of 

the  unknown. 

But  I  did  not  dread  solitude,  nor  find  those  vasts 

forlorn 
With  their  enfolding  silences,  for  I  was  Northern 

born. 


The  great  unbroken  wilderness  was  all  a  joy  to  see, 
And    the    firs    and    pointed    spruces    were    like    old 
friends  to  me. 

And  when  I  heard  the  whisper  of  the  snow  begin 

to  sing, 
My  heart  went  wild  for  gladness,  as  if  it  had  been 

spring. 

Out  of  the  gray  came  whirling  the  legions  of  the 

air. 
That    dance    upon    the    storm-wind    and    make    the 

world  more  fair. 

All  night  they  wrought  their  witch-work  until  the 

morning  glow, 
When  every  bough  was  bending  with  blossoms   of 

the  snow. 

Then  slowly,  very  slowly  I  crept  out  to  the  wild. 
With  the  rapture  and  the  wonder  and  the  footsteps 
of  a  child. 


VI. 


There  was  a  wild  young  river, — where  Robert  Louis 

heard 
The   rapids    brawling    in   the    night,    and   with   the 

stars  conferred. 


And  black  beneath  its  banks   of   snow  it  ran  and 

murmured  still, 
And  beside  it  ran  the  highway  in  the  shelter  of  the 

hill. 

There  day  by  day  and  yard  by  yard  I  learned  to 

walk  again. 
With  the   North   wind   for   my  trainer.     His   ways 

were  rough  and  plain, 

But  he  stung  me  into  courage,  and  put  his  heart  in 

me; 
While  the  silent  spruces  watched  us  and  the  river 

ran  to  see. 

There  in  that  snowy  woodland  under  the  mountain 
side. 

The  surge  and  lift  of  life  came  back  like  a  return- 
ing tide. 


VII. 

Once   when  the   thickening   storm  came   down   and 

shut  the  hills  away, 
I   saw  a  vision   in  the  wood, — a  host  that  showed 

the  way. 


They  spoke  no  word;  they  were  not  real;  but  they 
were  real  to  me; 

And  as  I  looked  I  saw — my  friends,  a  smiling  com- 
pany,— 

All  those  who  left  me  years  ago  to  take  the  un- 
known trail. 

And  those  I  left  but  yesterday;  and  they  all  gave 
me  hail, 

With  lighted  eye  and  lifted  hand,  the  wonted  sign 

of  cheer, — 
"The  trail  is  good,  good  all  the  way,  and  there  is 

nought  to  fear  1" 

VIII. 

There  they  all  stood  as  at  review  to  watch  me  as 

I  came. 
In  front  of  all  inspired  Sir  George,  his  eyes   still 

like  blue  flame, 

As  when,  a  great  Head  Master  he  set  us  in  the  way, 
That  from  the  straight  beginning  we  might  not  go 
astray. 

Before  that  strong  expectant  gaze  with  head  thrown 

up  to  see, 
I  would  have  done  my  stinted  mile,  though  it  had 

finished  me! 


8 


And  there  my  princely  father  stood,  with  his  bright 

courtly  smile 
That  knew  the  folly  of  the  world  yet  loved  it  all  the 

while. 

There   was  T.   R.   our  hero  who  crossed  the  Last 

Divide, 
And   left   the   world   all   leaderless   when   its   great 

captain  died. 

And    glorious    Royce,    with    his    great    brow;    and 

Richard  debonair, 
With  the  old  aplomb  and  tolerance  of  his  majestic 

air; 

Peter  the  Sage  of  Ekfrid;  Pirie,  laird  of  the  Glen; 
Alan,  a  monarch  of  the  air;  and  Eric,  a  prince  of 
men; 

Great  Mathew,  with  his  four  score  years  and  royal 

heart  of  youth; 
And   Levi,   old-school  gentleman  and   lover  of   the 

truth ; 

Good  Father  John,  hale,  merry-souled,  and  straight 

as  any  reed. 
Whose  tender  voice  makes  Scripture  seem  the  word 

of  God  indeed. 


And  that  tall  soldier  of  St.  George  whose  heart's 

glow  through  the  tan 
Proclaims  the  captain  of  our  faith  a  brother  and  a 

man; 

Brave  Dr.  Frank,  and  F.  P.  A.,  those  humanest  of 

seers, 
Whose  smiling  wisdom  helps  us  bear  the  fardel  of 

the  years. 

Familiar,  with  the  selfless  smile  St.  Francis  might 
have  worn. 

Came  Rutger,  strong  with  lifting  his  brothers  over- 
borne ; 

And  there  my  fellow  craftsmen,  the  Authors,  in  a 

band 
Make  haste  to   play  their   generous   part,   as   those 

who  understand; 

Close  to  their  ranks  a  patron  and  patriot  of  Yale, 
True  friend  of  letters  and  the  land  that  is  too  proud 
to  fail; 

Perry,   my   lad   from   oversea,   with   proffer   of   his 

best, — 
Grown  from  a  kiddie  on  my  knee  to  powers  none 

had  guessed; 

10 


Albertus,  noble  friend  revered,— New  England,  kind 

and  wise; 
Don  Carlos,  with  the  feeling  heart  under  his  rugged 

guise ; 

Beloved  Irving  and  dear  B.,  who  make,   for  trav- 
ellers' need, 
The  City  of  the  Angels  angelical  indeed; 

And  hospitable  Shepard,  who  loves  the  murmured 

rhyme, — 
The   whisper   from   the   soul   of   things    mysterious 

and  sublime. 


Hark,   Rudolph   Ganz !     I   cannot   tell   which   rings 

with  finer  joy, 
The  spell  from  your  inspired  hands  or  your  radiance 

of  a  boy. 

Joe,  Louis,  Willis,  E.  A.  D.  and  Harry  and  B.  J.; 
Dillon  and  George,  my  brothers  in  love, — my  pals 
through  Judgment  Day; 

Morton  and  Mitchell  good  to  see,  and  my  kinsmen 

Will  and  Ben, 
Who  keep  the  ancient  covenant  that  binds  the  hearts 

of  men; 


11 


Andrew,    my   chum   with   whom   I   ran   the   rapids 

many  a  day, 
And  bent  above  the  paddle  as  the  long  miles  slipped 

away. 

And  from  the  little  country  town  where  once  I  went 

unknown, 
Were  those  who  set  me  by  their  hearth  and  made 

me  as  their  own; 

The  fine  old  man  who  stayed  my  heart  with  home- 
made talk  and  wine; 

And  those  with  whom  I  sat  at  meat  or  walked 
through  rain  and  shine; 

And  Alfred,  matchless  playfellow,  who  helped  me 

pitch  my  tent 
Among  wild  roses  and  sweet-grass  where  we  found 

heart's  content. 

Bertram   and    Ralph    the    builders,   whose   glorious 

work  shall  stand 
Among  the  holy  minsters  in  faithful  ages  planned; 

And  Tom  who  keeps  the  glamor  of  our  remembered 

days 
In  warm  unfading  colors  and  a  comrade's  loyal  ways. 

ways. 

12 


Billy,  the  music  master, — his  genius  free  at  last; 
Great    Reedy,    no    more    troubled    now, — his    final 
proof-sheets  passed. 

And  who  are  these  with  modest  mien,  yet  aureoled 

with  light. 
Whose  paths  are  like  the  gleaming  trail  of  meteors 

through  the  night? 

O'er  pampering  and  ignorance  lies  their  unresting 

way, 
Bearing  reprieve — the  doctors   come  with  cure   for 

all  dismay. 

IX. 

And  women — Glory  be  to  God,  who  looked  upon  his 

earth 
When  it  was  all  but  finished,  and  marked  one  lack 

of  worth; 

And  gave  it  for   full  measure  brimmed  over,   and 

above 
AH  dream  or  understanding,  the  grace  of  woman's 

love! 

God's  happy  thought  for  Eden,  the  sheer  unmeas- 
ured good, 

Incarnate  faith  and  fondness,  in  beauty  there  they 
stood. 


13 


April,  Britannia,  Sybil,  Janet  and  Eleanor, 
Daphne,  Cordelia,  Ona,  Blythe,  Chloe  of  loving  lore, 

And   that   patrician   mother   with   her   sweet-voiced 

tenderness, 
Whose  hands  have  earned  the  royal  right  to  succor 

and  to  bless, 

Agnes  and  Mish  and  Yonnie,   dear  ministrants  of 

grace, 
Gertrude  and  Norma, — they  all  shone,  illuminating 

that  place. 

And  my  old  strong-heart  Loyalists   with  pride  of 

race  and  name, 
Who  feared  the  Lord  and  served  the  Queen — and 

bred  me  to  the  same. 


X. 


High  overhead  within  the  storm  there  grew  a  won- 
drous scroll, 

Inscribed  in  characters  of  light  revealed  as  clouds 
unroll. 

And  Oh  the  names,  bright  lists  of  those  whom  I  had 

never  known! 
I  want  the  hands  that  fit  those  names  to  hold  within 

my  own; 

14 


And  see  the  light  of  brotherhood   from  all  those 

faces  shine, 
Attesting  their  high  lineage  from  Mercy,  the  divine. 


XI. 


There  came  a  morning  when  the  flakes  were  falling 

thick  and  white. 
And  every  fence  and  roadway  was  buried  out  of 

sight. 

And  I  heard  the  ranges  calling  through  the  smother 

and  the  blow, 
Till  a  restlessness  possessed  me  and  I  knew  that  I 

must  go. 

The  snowshoes  of  my  boyhood  I  harnessed  on  with 

joy. 
And  with  them  the  excitement  and  illusions  of  a 

boy. 

Friendship  and  Hope  and  Joyousness  went  with  me 

as  I  sped 
To  the  spring  of  netted  rawhide  strung  taut  beneath 

my  tread. 

IS 


With  the  creaking  of  the  snowshoe  came  back  the 
limber  stride, 

As  I  swung  across  the  meadow  and  along  the  moun- 
tain side. 


And  a  shadow  from  the  balsams  stole  out  to  walk 

with  me, — 
A  courageous  smiling  presence  no  other  eyes  could 

see, 

Close  to  my  side  as  ever,  a  heartening  snowy  wraith, 
My  merry  little  sister,  all  love  and  pride  and  faith. 


No  stress  could  ever  daunt  her,  no  strain  could  ever 

quell 
That   fond  and   fearless   spirit.     She  loved  and  all 

was  well ! 


Through  the  wilderness  all  silent  and  powdery  with 

snow, 
We  kept  the  pace  together  as  we  kept  it  long  ago; 

Till  beyond  the  bounds  of  exile,  with  new  life  to 

explore, 
Aglow    upon    a    conquered   height   I    stood — a   man 

once  more. 


16 


XII. 

May  He  whose  habitation  is  in  the  lasting  hills, 
The  frost  and  cold,  the  summer  fields,  the  woods 
and  singing  rills. 

Look  kindly  on  the  little  town  of  my  captivity, 
And  bless  the  lonely  wilderness  that  was  so  good 
to  me; 

And  have  forever  in  His  care,  come  snow  or  sun  or 

rain, 
Those  golden  hearts  who  gave  me  love  and  strength 

to  walk  again! 

And  may  the  peace  of  clear  new  moons,  the  solace 

of  the  sun, 
Be  with  the  ailing  of  the  earth  and  heal  them  every 
one! 


The  Adirondacks, 
1919-20. 


17 


I 


/?xc 


